Of Small Matters with Big Consequences
by lildark7
Summary: Hanna is new to Santa Monica. Barely getting by, she decides that she needs to do something about her situation, or she will end up on the streets. So she applies for the job as part-time hostess at the club around the corner from where she lives.
1. Necessities

Chapter 1: Necessities

Notes: I'll write on this whenever I get bored I guess. It's kinda different from the style of writing I usually do. So this is kind of an experimental project.

I look around the store carefully. There's only the cashier around and he is reading a magazine, seemingly dying of boredom. Poor guy got the graveyard shift. It's pretty late right now and I guess nobody ever bothers to come in at this hour. Well, other than me. But I'm weird anyway.

I check the left hand row of clothes that are marked 'for sale' and 'two for one', pull out two simple, white tank tops, then another one in black. I smile. They will fit, and lucky for me, they don't have the ink tags on them.

I head to the fitting room and take off my saggy gray t-shirt. I try on one of the white tops, casually put my t-shirt back on and walk out of there with one less item than I came in with.

I walk up to the cashier. He wasn't reading a magazine after all. He's reading a comic. I have a look at the title. "Fables: Legends in Exile," I say. By Bill Willingham. Never heard of him. "Is it any good?" I place the two tank tops on the counter.

The cashier looks up at me, giving me a genuine smile. "Oh, yes. It's set in modern day New York and all the creatures from folklore were exiled from their worlds and live among us, disguised as humans by something called 'a glamour'. They all live in a luxury apartment building that they call Fabletown. Someone gets murdered at the start and the Big Bad Wolf, the sheriff of Fabletown, is investigating. I can really recommend it." He bags my purchase and lets me know, "That'd be 9.99."

I hand him the money. "Thanks. I might even start reading it. Have a good night."

He nods. "You too."

I walk out the store without being stopped. I have to admit, I've done this so many times, I lost count. "This is seriously my favorite store in town." And it really is, not just because I can constantly swipe things from it without consequences. I met my first friend in there when I had just moved here a while ago. His name is Brian. He's nice. He is the only person who ever caught me shoplifting. Yes, he caught me shoplifting. That's been our first encounter. I thought he was gonna rat me out, but no. He paid for the shirt I was in the process of stealing. One just like the one I am wearing under my sack of a t-shirt right now. I'm still in shock over it. He just took it from me, wordlessly, went to the cash register, gave the clerk the money and came straight back to me. I must have looked completely dumbfounded when he handed me the shirt with a smirk and said, "Pleased to meet you, I'm Brian. While I'm at it, wanna grab a coffee with me? I don't feel like going alone."

I agreed. Now we're best friends. The first talk we had at Starbucks is something I will always remember fondly. Felt like something out of a movie. We instantly clicked, just like that.

I don't own a car, whenever I need to travel a longer distance, I can take the bus, otherwise I just walk everywhere. Turning the corner, my gaze falls onto Trip's Pawnshop, above it are a series of shitty apartments. In one of which, I live. Apartment 506, Hanna Moore.

There's no mail in the mailbox, as always. I rarely get mail, and if I do, it's usually unpleasant things. Bills, most of all.

I turn the key in the lock and enter, my brown sleeper sofa greeting me. It's a one room apartment, small and badly insulated. I can already imagine my heating bill for winter skyrocketing through the roof.

I sigh, take off my shoes, turn on the TV and proceed to put a pizza in the oven. I'm always hungry. My anxiety burns through the food I ingest like fire through dry wood. I pull my phone out of my back pocket and curse myself. I have left it on silent.

1 missed call. 5 minutes ago.

I recognize the number immediately. It's the club's manager. The one I applied at a few days ago.

I feel my nerves start to sing. I need the job, desperately. I don't steal shit for no reason. I barely am able to manage paying rent and having enough food. New clothes and other things are already troublesome to get without overdrawing my bank account some months.

I tell myself to calm the fuck down. It never really helps. I'm so nervous it's a wonder my hands aren't shaking. I hit the call button and every time I hear the dial tone, the more I want to hang up again.

"Miss Moore," a female voice on the other end greets me formally. "This is Therese Voerman. I hope I am not interrupting anything important."

Please don't let my voice shake, I pray before answering, "Not at all, Miss Voerman. It's good to hear from you. I'm sorry I couldn't pick up a few minutes ago."

"It's quite alright." There's a short pause before she continues, "I wanted to invite you for an interview. How soon can you come in? If everything is in order you could start working tomorrow night. My sister will be there to help you familiarize yourself with the club and the handling of the clientele."

I run it through in my head quickly. This is a great opportunity. "I could be over in about half an hour, if that's alright with you."

"Wonderful." She sounds quite pleased with my reply. "I'll let Cal, my bartender, know you're coming. Speak to him when you've arrived and he'll send you up to my office."

"Thank you, Miss Voerman. I'm looking forward to meeting you."

"Likewise. See you later."

The line goes dead and I breathe a breath of relief. So far, so good. Now I have to decide what to wear. I open the drawer of my dresser and inspect the contents. I pull out gray skinny jeans and a white blouse. It should do. I change my sneakers for a pair of black ballet flats and feel quite good about my choice of clothing. My phone, keys and wallet go into a small black purse before I'm on my way to the Asylum.

Once there however, I'm starting to doubt my choice of dress is fitting the general atmosphere of the club. Just one look around is telling me that the clientele is quite 'eccentric'. Even Cal, the bartender doesn't look like your usual bartender. He's covered in tattoos. He's bulky and looks quite imposing. I'm pretty sure he acts as a bouncer from time to time as well.

He smiles at me as I draw closer and I have to speak quite loudly to be heard over the blaring of the music. "My name's Hanna Moore. Miss Voerman is expecting me."

He nods. "Take the elevator behind you. I'll let her know you're here."

"Thanks." I turn and check the crowd again. There are some people dressed normally, but they're in the minority.

As the doors open and close again, they block out most of the music, then it fades as the elevator makes its way to the first floor.

I knock and from the other side I hear Miss Voerman. "Please, come in."

I do and she walks up to me. She's quite tall. Black glasses sit on her nose, framing her steel gray eyes. Her hair is tired into a neat bun and she's wearing business attire. A brown skirt and matching blazer. She looks so composed, so self confident, that it instantly makes my social anxiety have an appearance. I feel small in her presence. I'm intimidated and I pray to god it doesn't show.

"So, in your letter it said you're relatively new to Santa Monica. How do you like it here, so far?" she asks and gestures to a small table with two chairs in the room. "Have a seat."

"It's quite nice. I frequently visit the pier and I've been to the gallery."

Miss Voerman sits down opposite to me. "Very nice." She pauses for a moment, then, "No need to be nervous."

Shit. I hoped it wouldn't show. This isn't helping my situation. I'm being interviewed for a hostess position, I definitely shouldn't appear nervous around people. I am probably giving off the impression of being completely incompetent and incompatible for said position.

"I'm sorry. It's just that this is really important to me. It usually goes away during a day or two." It's not a lie. Once I get used to the workplace, I feel right at home.

"I appreciate your honesty."

I notice that she has printed out my letter and CV and is flicking through it.

With a smile on her lips, she looks up from the documents and tells me, "From what I read here, I think you will fit in quite nicely. My sister is a bit more laid back in her attitude and I believe you will get along with her quite well. I get the impression you're more comfortable in less formal situations."

She's 100 percent right. I don't do well with situations where you have to follow a very strict set of etiquette and rules. Because half the time, I don't know how to act in those. They send my brain into a spiral of doubt and make me scared of doing something wrong from a lack of knowledge. "I am, yes."

"Well then," Miss Voerman says. "Come in tomorrow night at 10 PM. My sister will be waiting for you downstairs. You can't miss her. Pigtails, red lipsticks and a lot of eye makeup, wears a mini skirt and crop top."

"Is there a dress code for hostesses?" I inquire.

She actually laughs. I like her better when she's amused. It takes away the cold facade.

"There isn't. Jeanette is just the freak show I keep around to lure in curiosity seekers. You're free to come in jeans and t-shirt if you like, or put on some schoolgirl outfit and act, like my sister. It's your choice. As long as you're good with the clientele and there aren't any complaints, you can do as you please."

Hearing this makes me a lot more comfortable. "Thank you, Miss Voerman. I'm very happy to have the chance to be working with you and your sister."

"You're welcome. Jeanette will see you tomorrow. You'll get your paycheck from me every two weeks." She stands up and moves over to the door with me and extends her hand.

Remember to squeeze a bit, I remind myself. Or she will think she's shaking hands with a dead fish.

I take it and force myself to look at her as I do so. I hate handshakes. I absolutely do.

Almost imperceptibly her eyebrow raises and I wonder why. I don't need need to wonder long though. Miss Voerman's voice holds the slightest bit of surprise when she states, "Your hands are extremely cold. Are you feeling alright?"

I'm taken aback. Now that she mentions this, hers weren't warmer than mine. Which is quite unusual. Usually people's hands are always warmer. "I have really bad circulation, plus it gets worse when I'm anxious or nervous. It's nothing to worry about though. I'm fine. Thank you for your concern."

She lets go of my hand. "I would like for you to go over to the clinic to get your blood tested though, just to make sure it's nothing serious. I fund the hospital. One of my employees at the blood bank will take a sample. It's right around the corner and he's working night shifts. I'll let him know you're coming if you have time. It doesn't take long. His name is Vandal Cleaver, he should be sitting at the reception of the blood bank downstairs."

A blood test? Well, I guess if she wants to make sure I'm healthy it's fine? It does strike me as slightly strange though, but I don't question it. I rarely question things. I'm one of those people who believe a lot of things if the person who's telling them, seems to know what they're talking about. I'm probably also a bit too trusting sometimes.

"Of course, I'll go right away." And with that, I'm off to the blood bank.

I'm not a fan of hospitals, but as I make my way downstairs, I get the impression that Miss Voerman's funds are sorely needed. Even as someone who knows jack shit about regulations can tell that this, is not how it should be. The wallpaper is cracked and almost peeling off the walls near the ceiling at some places and there's a faint, musty smell in the air. I hope this is only like this in the hallway, but I'm proven wrong as I turn the corner, go through the door and make my way to the reception area, which is a glass panel on the right side near yet another door.

A man with shoulder long, brown hair turns from the computer screen to me, gets up and walks to the window. This must be Vandal. He's around a few years older than me, from what I can tell. He's smiling, but it's definitely not reaching his eyes. His eyes. They're ice blue. Beautiful, but cold, and not in color, but in expression. I can feel that I'm staring at him. I can feel my brain going blank, all thoughts in it disappearing, replaced with a black emptiness and I'm not moving, or blinking, or normally functioning. I've never been to a psychiatrist before, but I kind of know this isn't normal. It's like I entered some state of trance.

He narrows his eyes at me. And when I show no reaction at all, he looks kind of surprised. "You're Hanna, right?"

I hear him speak, I hear him clearly but I am unable to answer him. I can think the words through a thick wall of fog, but my lips aren't moving to speak them.

"Hey, I asked you a question!" he sounds annoyed now.

I still cannot move. When I don't respond this time, he turns around and walks out of the booth. From the corner of my eyes, I see the door next to the window open and he steps out.

"Of course Queen Bitch sends me someone to take a sample from and she turns out to be having a catatonic episode right as she gets here. Wonderful." He sounds so pissed.

Catatonic? Queen Bitch?! Is he talking about Therese Voerman? Why would he use such an insulting nickname? I got questions about that! This already sucks. I hope I snap out of it soon. It usually doesn't last long.

Vandal comes closer. I wonder what would happen if he touches me. I've always been alone when this happens. I don't actually want him to though.

"Let's hope nobody comes down here and sees you like this. They'd drag you right up to the third floor." He smirks. "That's the mental ward, by the way."

No, no, no, no, no! No one is dragging me to a mental ward! I'm perfectly fine. It'll go away. It's not serious.

I blink, while he continues to watch me with an almost curious look on his sharp featured face.

He continues to speak to me, "Nah, I wouldn't let them take you away. This is a nice change to my routine. I get to talk and for once, I have someone unable to talk back, or interrupt me, or ask stupid questions. Feels good to have someone just listen to my voice and nothing else."

If I didn't know better, he's actually having fun. And somehow, just having him talk is pulling me out of this quicker. My head slightly turns, almost in slow motion. Through the clearing fog another thought forms. I like his voice, I actually do.

"Well at least it didn't last long," he comments. "Think you can walk yet?"

I make a face as if I've bitten into a lemon. No.

"Should I get a wheelchair to speed this up?"

I can't tell if he's joking or not.

He lets out a frustrated sigh and mutters to himself, "The shit the Queen Bitch tells me to put up with."

Again, the nickname. I feel a bit like waking up and now, finally, thankfully, I turn to him completely, even if the movement is a bit slowed.

"I guess that's a no," Vandal comments and walks towards the door he had come out of, checking if I'm following him.

"Thank you for your patience." I mean it.

He shrugs.

With the thud of the door falling shut behind us, my head is clear again, but now instead of being unable to, I just don't feel like talking anymore.

We enter a room with a medical cot, a few counters with drawers and two x-ray prints hanging on the left.

"Roll up your right sleeve and lie down," he orders me, and I comply wordlessly. He's pulling things out of the drawers. I see gloves, a small tube with a needle attached to it, a tourniquet and disinfectant wipes.

He comes over to me and places them on a small stand next to the cot and reaches for my arm. There's a slight twitching of the corner of his mouth as his eyes fall on it. I always forget my arms are covered in thin white scars. He turns it over and finds new scratches there.

"Do you own a cat?" he asks. Or in other words. Did you do this to yourself?

I did do this to myself, yes. "No." I don't care if he knows.

He ties the tourniquet on me runs his finger along my arm in search for a vein. Even through the gloves I notice that his hands are almost hot. He asks, "So you met the Queen Bitch. How do you like her?"

Something in his tone unnerves me. I feel like saying something wrong here could get me in serious trouble. "Miss Voerman is very polite and forthcoming and I'm really glad I got the chance to work with her and her sister." It's all I dare to say.

"When do you start working at the club?"

I feel a bit like being questioned. "Tomorrow at 10 PM. Jeanette Voerman is to show me the ropes."

His expression changes for but a moment. He looks almost unsettled. Almost. "Have fun. She's crazy."

It makes me laugh. "She can't be more crazy than me. That makes it a good match though."

His finger presses down on a vein and disinfects the spot then grabs the needle with the tube from the stand. "Take a deep breath." I do, and he quickly drives the needle in. He watches the blood run out of me with a smile. "Do you know your blood type?"

I guessed that would be something someone working at the blood bank would be interested in. "Yeah, it's AB negative."

"You should donate," he says. "Queen Bitch would love that."

"Why would she love it if I donated blood to the hospital? Don't you get your stock from somewhere?" I'm confused. I don't know how this actually works. Also, shouldn't he be pulling out the tube soon? It's almost full.

And just as I think it, he unties the tourniquet and removes the needle from my arm. He seals the tube and labels it. "Be careful when you're sitting up. You might get dizzy."

I slowly do and Vandal watches my movements. I feel fine. Disappointment flickers over his face. This strikes me as weird, but as always, I choose to ignore the fact. Even doubt that I've really seen it.

"And to answer your question: We don't get a lot of your blood type. It's always low in stock. After all it is the rarest, only making up 0.6 percent of the population," he explains.

Why do I feel like he's telling white lies? Why do I feel like I'm only getting half the story? Because I'm paranoid and stupid, that's why.

He pulls off the first glove.

What I see makes me freeze up shortly. Oh no. My chest fills up with pain. Across his wrist runs a series of long, raised scars. They look really serious. They look like -

His voice cuts off my thoughts and makes my head snap up. "These are from when I had to stock up supplies with my own blood."

What?! I'm unsure if I like his sense of morbid, dark humor.

"Maybe your new job will add a few more scars to your arm too."

He isn't joking, not really. The metaphor is clear to me. However his tone, it scares me. This sounds simultaneously like a warning and a threat. The worst thing about his remark though, is that he's probably right.

"Are we done?" I ask. I want to get out of here now. His change in demeanor is freaking me out.

The snap of the glove coming off his other hand is so loud in the sudden quiet that has fallen. "For now."

The grin on his face. I won't get that out of my head again for a while.

I get up from the cot and he steps up to me and extends his hand.

Fucking handshakes. I'm so done with this that I almost refuse to shake it. It takes me 3 seconds before I do, and I only do so because the look he's giving me darkens and I really don't want to piss him off. Pissing this guy off seems like one of the worst ideas ever.

I wince. It's like he's trying to break my hand. "Ow, man." I feel my knuckles rub against each other under the strength of his grasp. It hurts. And yes, his skin is burning. What the hell.

"Please come back some time," he purrs.

Now this, contrasting with the force he's holding my hand with, is creepy.

"I will." I say it only to give him what he wants. I can't know if I'm coming back. Maybe I really will be coming back, who knows?

His grip loosens. "Will you?" He's delighted.

I nod. "Yes." So fucking creepy.

He lets go, but doesn't step back.

Do not fucking run, I tell myself. I should stay as calm as I can.

"It doesn't really matter if you come back here or not," he mumbles and looks off to the side before his gaze finds me again. "I will see you tomorrow."

Excuse me? "Wh-?" His hand moves into the direction of my face too fast for me to process. I can't even react. I'm in shock. He just placed his finger on my mouth to shut me up!

He chuckles, "Don't waste your words. Have a good night."

I stare at him.

He steps back, and when I make no implications that I'm gonna go he growls, "You can leave now."

I turn on my heels and hurry out. As the door falls shut, I think I hear him bursting into laughter.

Fuck this guy. He's got a few more screws loose than me. I'm convinced of that. He's a completely different kind of weird. I think the entire time I was in there with him, he was enjoying it, but not in a good way. More in a way a young cat enjoys playing with a mouse before finally ending it and eating it.

With my head full of thoughts I don't actually want to have, I walk home. In the distance, I see red lights. Maybe an ambulance? There are a few older people in the neighborhood after all.

I draw closer and closer. No, not an ambulance. The fire department.

What would they-?

"Oh my fucking god, no," I gasp. They're in front of my apartment complex. "Shit!"

You fucking idiot! You FORGOT the pizza in the oven before you left the house! FUCK! I can't believe how stupid and forgetful I am sometimes. How could I have left that unattended? If that oven caught fire, I will kick myself.

I almost run up to the first firefighter I see and ask, "Don't tell me there was a fire in my apartment?! Number 506! I'm Miss Moore."

He gives me a reserved smile. "No, but your neighbor heard the smoke detectors go off and called. You're free to go in. Nothing serious happened. Your insurance should cover any costs that will arise."

Jup, I'm fucked.

I go in. They have already opened all the windows and removed the piece of charcoal that was once pizza from the oven. That's one point for the pizza. My oven looks like it needs some serious help after that.

"Miss, we need all your contact information," the tallest of the firefighters in the room lets me know. "We will have to send you a bill for the lock we had to repair after we forced our way in here."

"Uh, okay." My brain can't handle all of this. I'm mad at myself. This could have been avoided.

I dig out a pen and paper and when I'm done writing what he needs down, I hand it to him. "Anything else?"

"Don't leave your food, in either the oven or on the stove unattended in the future."

I wanna rip his spine out. That's OBVIOUS. And I know it. I hate that I know it. I hate that I know that this whole thing is my fault. "Yes, thank you for the advice," I speak flatly, despite the rage I feel.

After that, they just leave. I feel way too much at once right now. It makes me want to get a knife from the kitchen. I slump down onto the sofa.

That was the last pizza, wasn't it? I'm more hungry than when I left the house. Now I have to make due with bread. The prospect doesn't amuse me. I have half a mind to go to the diner and eat there. Before I do that though, I will check my dresser for what I'm going to wear tomorrow.

And so I do. I find a pair of black, ripped jeans and place the other white tank top that I stole tonight next to it.

Do I really want to go to the diner though? Do I really want to take another walk tonight? I actually don't. Which brings me back to the kitchen to check the fridge.

Nothing in it that I want. Seems like I'm not hungry enough after all. I've been at a point in my life where I'd have eaten leftovers out of a garbage container if it had come to it.

I set the alarm on my phone, go to take a shower and call it a night. Before I slip to sleep my mind comes up with horrible scenarios that could happen tomorrow. All the things that could go wrong. I just know I'll sleep like shit. I do.


	2. Not Just a Normal Workday

**Not Just a Normal Workday**

I groan as the sound of the alarm reaches my ears and I turn it off. I'm not a morning person, or well, I'm just not a 'wake up' person. Doesn't really matter what time of day it is, I'm always a wreck for up to an hour after waking up.

"Someone please kill me, so I never have to get up again," I speak to no one. I don't mean it. Sometimes I think it's a bad idea to speak it aloud. What if a higher power hears me? I kind of believe that the universe itself has its strange ways of making shit happen.

I drag myself to the kitchen to make coffee. I set my alarm to wake me up early enough that I have half the day left for myself before I go to work. I kind of want to dye my hair. It's been its natural ashy blond for years now. So I make up my mind to go to the drug store after I drink my coffee.

I'm so slow after getting up. Like a zombie. Like a Windows 95 computer booting up. Sometimes it doesn't go away for days. The fog just won't lift and I feel exhausted no matter how much sleep I got.

While I'm sipping, I check my phone for messages. Brian wrote, a few others back from home, asking how I'm doing. I take my time to reply to them and then go to the bathroom.

I'm not in there long. I brush my hair, my teeth, that's it. I change underwear and then put on the clothes I wore yesterday. I take some money and am out the door off to the nearest drug store.

I stand before the row of different colors and I should have known from experience that I also should have made up my mind about what color I wanted before going. Too many options pose problems for me.

I don't quite know how long I've been standing here, but at one point, a redhead walks past, takes out the exact dye that she seems to be using at the moment, glances at me and then asks, "You looking for something specific?"

I shake my head. "I just can't decide. I know I want color that's not natural hair."

"I think pastel pink would look good on you." She points at the product. "It washes out, so if you don't like it, it's gone in two to three weeks."

"Thanks." I watch her walk off. And after a bit more contemplating, I decide that she's probably right. Also, while I'm here. I need new mascara.

I turn into another aisle and from the entrance I hear a mother with a screaming kid walk in.

I ball my fists. I need to get the fuck out of here as fast as possible. Screaming kids and babies trigger me. I get so livid at the sound, at the noise that I almost can't control myself. I'm worried that one day I'll snap and do something really reckless. My mind goes to very dark places in that particular instance. I want to shout at them, grab their throats and squeeze until they can't scream anymore.

I grab 2 packs of the dye, because my hair is chest long, then hurry to the makeup section and get mascara.

The siren sound of the kid's screaming isn't stopping. Can't that little shit just shut up?

I get to the line at the cash register and I feel like I'll explode. It's such a long line.

"Shut up," I growl under my breath, but not loud enough that anyone hears.

Someone steps up and continues the line behind me.

"Oh, hey. You actually decided to go for it."

It's the redhead from earlier. I turn to her with a smile. "Yeah." She's holding so much stuff. Shampoo, conditioner, shower gel, hygiene products, makeup. I didn't notice before, but she's wearing glasses. "You got a lot of stuff."

"I do." She introduces herself, "By the way, I'm Heather."

"Pleased to meet you. I'm Hanna." I hear the kid and the mother approach.

Heather pulls a face. "Ugh." She glances behind her.

"Not a fan of kids either, judging from your face," I grin.

"Not if they're like 'that'," she says.

I like her already. Actually there's not a lot of people I dislike. "Agreed." I pull out my phone, spontaneously deciding to exchange numbers with her. "Say can I have your number? We could meet up for coffee some time or something."

"Sure! I'd love to!"

I save her number and the line moves up a bit. I place my things on the conveyor belt. The screaming kid is now in line with us, a few people behind.

I hope that kid drops unconscious from screaming for so long. It's getting hard for me to concentrate. I'm so desperately trying to keep my anger inside of me.

"I know a place that's nice. You live near here?" Heather wants to know.

I nod.

"That's great, me too!" She looks genuinely happy about this. And to be honest, I am too.

I don't get to see Brian all that often because he works on construction sites and is out and about at odd hours and remote locations a lot. Having someone who lives closer who you can spontaneously meet up with is nice.

"You go to college?" She looks the type. I'm curious.

Her answer is positive. "I'm studying to become a fashion designer."

That's cool. I hope it works out for her.

"You?"

Another high pitched wail makes my ears ring. And it seems I'm not the only person who's getting pissed off at the mother who's doing 'nothing'. In front of us in line, I see people roll their eyes and even grumble. I however, am so close to snapping.

"I start working at the Asylum tonight. I'm relatively new in town. Got a hostess job." I'm grateful that Heather doesn't ask me what 'else' I do. Or what I did before.

"That sounds good. The club's nice. I've been a few times."

My head hurts. SO badly. I'll need a pain killer later.

"Moommyyyy!" The scream is louder than the last few ones and only raising in pitch.

I spill over like a pot of boiling water.

I hand Heather a ten dollar bill. "Please pay for me if I don't get back in line in time. This kid, I'm done."

A bit perplexed, she takes it. "Okay."

I leave the line and walk up to what I now see to be a boy about the age of 5 or 6 with his all done up, young mother with platinum blonde dyed hair in heels. I grab the boy's shoulders, spin him around and make him face me. He stops screaming immediately.

"Hey, what the hell are you doing?!" the mother barks.

I ignore her. The boy is wide eyed. I don't know what expression I have on my face right now, but I'm sure it's definitely not a nice one. "Now look what you did," I say, noticing that I do in fact sound scary. I haven't raised my voice in the least, but my tone is cold. "I bet you were screaming because your mother is ignoring you, right?" I wait for him to answer.

He nods.

"Well, you got the attention of someone else now. Doesn't feel good, right?"

He shakes his head.

"Next time, remember. No matter how long or loud you scream, if she doesn't answer you after 3 times of 'Mommy' you're not getting what you wanted and there's 'nothing' you can do about it." I let go and immediately, his mother attacks me verbally.

"You can't talk to my child like that!"

I laugh. "Oh yeah? What were you gonna do about him screaming his lungs out? Nothing. You should be glad no one else 'worse' decided to take care of the issue. Someone who isn't as good at keeping their anger in check after they've been continuously been triggered for about 15 minutes straight." It's a threat and I don't give a shit.

She looks like she doesn't know how to respond to that and before she can pull her thoughts together, I turn away. From the corner of my eye, for a split second, I think I see Vandal standing outside the store, looking in through the glass facade inside the mall. And he is beaming with cruel satisfaction.

I know it's not real, even though it seems so. Sometimes I imagine things that aren't there. They pop into my head like intruders.

As I walk back down the line, I don't see Heather in it anymore and indeed, she was kind enough to pay for my stuff. She's waiting at the entrance of the store for me.

With finally having quiet again, I feel a bit better. The sharp headache reduced to a dull pain.

"Thank you so much, Heather! You're a lifesaver!" I smile.

She hands me my things and the return money. "You're welcome."

"Got anything planned for the rest of the day?" I ask. "I have to get ready for work once I get home."

"I got an exam coming up I gotta study for."

"Good luck with that. I bet you'll do great." I mean that too. "I'll text you when I get home."

She smiles brightly. "I'll text back of course. I can't wait to meet up for coffee. I bet we got a lot to talk about."

"Yes, absolutely. You've gotta tell me more about the courses you take. I'm so curious."

"Maybe we can manage this week."

"Of course. Just text me a time and a day and I'll make room. The club opens at 9 PM so I'm free before that."

"Okay, will do. So, talk to you later and see you later this week." Heather moves in to actually hug me.

"Aw," I hug her back and we break apart again. "See you soon, Heather."

We part ways and I go to my apartment a little happier than I left it.

As soon as I get home, I text Heather, like I said. I busy myself with dying my hair and I'm in the bathroom rinsing it when my phone buzzes again.

I wrap a towel around the wet mess and go to the living room to pick it up.

It's not a text from Heather. It's from an unknown number.

I open it.

'Let go.'

Okay, so what is this? That's all it says. Let go of what? Or is this a mistype and whoever wrote this meant to write 'Let's go'?

I don't text back. I never do when I don't know the number.

Back in the bathroom I blow dry my hair and inspect the result. It looks great, Heather was right. The pale, faded pastel pink is also something I can combine with all my clothes.

I open up the new mascara and do my upper lashes. Left in their natural state they are almost white in color so the black coat of paint helps to really bring them out. I don't care about the bottom ones. They can remain like they are. I like the contrast.

Once upon a time someone told me that my eyes are creepy. And they are a bit strange I have to admit that. They are blue, but the color is so light that they look almost translucent.

"You should play in a horror movie." I pull a face at the memory of the girl in high school telling me that.

"Look at her, I bet she pukes up all the food she's eating immediately after she's done shoving it down her throat." I push the thought of that down with all the others I feel building up in my head. They're baggage I don't need. I need to-

I turn away from the mirror and look out into the living room to my phone.

They're something I need to 'let go' of. I'm better now. More or less.

I shake my head. The universe has a strange way of lining up seemingly random coincidences and making them mean something.

I take my clothes from the dresser. My last step in getting ready for work.

I kind of want to know who sent that text. I argue with myself if I should reply. I'd be breaking my own rule. I can't be breaking my own rules, but damn, I wish I knew who sent that.

I let out a sight that's almost frustrated. Concentrate on the work that's ahead of you. Don't get distracted, it's not good. Remember the pizza just yesterday. Your stupid ass losing focus and freaking out over stuff is bullshit for you.

When I have everything on, I grab a hair tie and pull my hair into a loose ponytail.

Done. My phone goes into my jeans.

I check if I unplugged everything. I do that when I leave the house for longer than an hour. The outlets here are shit and I'm always worried there could be a thunderstorm rolling over while I'm gone. I don't want my electronics to fry if there's a lightning strike.

I get my keys and some emergency money as well as my ID and put them in the pocket of my leather jacket as I pull the door to my apartment shut.

There's probably not a lot of people at the club this early, especially since it's a weekday and all. I hope Jeanette and I get along as well as Therese said she thinks we will. I'll probably work the same shift as her the first few days.

The streets are pretty much dead as I walk them. No cars passing, no people out. It's nice. I really like it when it's this quiet. With nobody around I feel a lot more at home in the world. It's different from when I'm alone at home, locked into my small apartment. This right here are the quiet moments I enjoy most, with the wide open space and the sky above me, I'm content. Unfortunately these moments don't last long. I'm one of those people who wouldn't mind if everyone else disappeared off the face of the earth for a month, just to have some peace. They shouldn't be gone longer though. I think I would get lonely. But the time to recharge would do me good. Interacting with people is draining for me. It doesn't mean I don't like it. I do. But it takes a lot of energy.

I'm nearing the Asylum and the bit of quiet I just had fades as I spot the first people hanging out front, talking.

There's a few girls, one of which is in a white Gothic dress, a guy with brown hair wearing a green bomber jacket, a blonde with chin long hair in a purple top and-

I almost stop dead in my tracks. Vandal. I can't just pretend I'm not seeing him. He's right at the door. He was hidden by the support pillar holding the porch roof.

Is that why he asked when I start yesterday? Was this intentional? Why is he here?

If I as much as nod a greeting he will talk to me, I'm sure of it. Just walk past, keep your eyes to the ground and pray.

And of course it's not working. As I take the few steps up to the door, I feel his gaze on me. He moves towards me before I can reach it.

"Hanna."

I look up. I have to now, because he addressed me by name. I don't look directly at him though, I keep my eyes off to the side a bit. The group of people enters the club. We're alone out here now.

I blink. He's smoking. I have no idea why, but it's so unexpected. Somehow I thought he didn't, I just assumed it.

"Did you fall into a pot of paint?" he asks, quite amused.

My hair? He's referring to my hair? Ugh, why does he have to be here when I'm already nervous about the whole starting work thing? He's creating chaos in my head. He wasn't part of the run through I did in my mind of how the whole way to work would go.

"I guess I did," I laugh and quickly take in his appearance again. He's wearing a black hoodie and blue jeans. Got to say, he looks good in black.

He takes the last drag on his cigarette and turns his head away to exhale the smoke. It reeks.

"You just pulled a face as if you've smelled a dozen rotten eggs," Vandal grins and crushes the butt with his heel. Then his voice suddenly drops eerily. I can't tell what the undertone I hear is. "I hope Jeanette keeps you."

"Well, at least I amuse you." I ignore the second comment. Yeah, I really don't wanna get kicked out and lose my job on the first day, or ever.

A red car passes to the left of us. It's going way too fast.

Vandal follows my gaze. "What are you looking at?" He looks back into my face. He's angry. Pissed off.

It's swerving on the road, then off the road and into the building near the tunnel. I wince. Shrapnel flies everywhere and blood sprays onto the windshield, the side windows. The thing only takes a second. There's no sound.

I feel tears in my eyes.

The car is gone.

Nothing happened. But I'm traumatized.

Vandal steps to the side and blocks my view of the tunnel entrance and the building.

The red car passing was real, I know it. It just drove into the tunnel, but my head decided to make a horror scenario of it and play it like a movie in my head, creating a blurry projection in the real world of it.

"Look at me," Vandal orders me sharply.

I notice I'm staring at the ground. When did I lower my head?

I wince again, this time at his words.

My flight response kicks in. He'll ask questions about that. I don't want to be questioned right now.

With no further interference of my brain my body moves on its own. I turn to the right, reach out for the door handle and am going to flee inside.

Two hands clamp down on my shoulders, hard, and pull me back, then spin me around.

"Nobody 'runs' from me," Vandal hisses, his voice holding something so dark that it truly terrifies me.

He doesn't let go of me. I frantically look around, but there's no one here to see this. I feel my nerves on fire. I know if I closed my eyes now I would see rapid white flashes of light behind them.

Vandal leans in. "I'm not going to repeat myself." His hands clamp shut like a vise. It hurts. I'll have bruises. "Look. At. Me."

I stare straight into his eyes. I feel like I woke the monster in him. There's so much hate in his gaze. So much rage. The deeper I look the more I see and what I find on the bottom in the darkness surrounded by the ice blue is something I want to unsee. Something not quite human anymore. He's broken inside.

"Don't ever run from me again," he threatens. "I've done worse to people for running than just holding them in place."

I believe him. I believe every word. Vandal is not someone you want to mess with. Ever. He's someone you want on your good side.

"I'm sorry, I won't. It was a reflex," I assure him, my voice almost cracking like glass.

He's not breaking eye contact, and I don't dare look away again.

"What were you looking at? What did you see?"

I don't want to tell him. He won't understand, I'm sure of it. I want to sink into the earth and disappear. "Was the car real?" I know it was, I'm certain, so why do I want proof? Because I never had the chance to have proof? To have verification, that I'm not completely insane.

"There was a red car, yes. What I want to know is what caused that look of utter horror on your face," he smiles.

"You didn't see it crash," I tell him.

Yes, he doesn't understand. His eyebrow raises in question. "No. It just drove past normally."

I shake my head. I don't want to think about it again. I feel my face distort in fear at having the thought come back. "It didn't, I- It crashed into the wall next to the tunnel. Blood spraying onto the windshield, shrapnel flying everywhere and the people inside it clearly dead from the impact." I lean to the side, look past him again to check if it was really gone.

"No, no, no, no, no." It's back, and the engine is smoking. "Stop, stop, 'please'." It blows up and the car catches fire. The screams from the back seat abruptly stop. I turn my head away. My eyes are wider than before, and this time I feel the tears rolling down my cheeks. I didn't want him to make me think of it again for this exact reason. I knew my head would continue this horror.

Vandal grasps my jaw and turns my head so that I'm facing him again. "Calm down." His voice is suddenly surprisingly gentle. I didn't think he could speak this softly. "There was nothing there."

"I know. But it's in my head. The thoughts haunt me like ghosts, they're like parasites. They play like a movie in my mind, but the remote control to press the stop button was never given to me."

"I know what that's like," Vandal says and somehow I know he's not lying. "Maybe I can't relate exactly to what you're experiencing, but believe me, I know what it's like to have demons in my head that speak to me."

He hears voices? "I'm sorry." That must be horrible too.

"I got used to them." He still doesn't let go of me. "Now listen, there's a reason I'm out here at this goddamn hour 'before' my shift at the blood bank starts. Miss Voerman told me to give Jeanette the results of your blood test and let you know that you're to donate as part of your work. She'll write you an extra paycheck for each time you donate to the hospital."

That's the only reason he came out here? That's too mundane. I mean, it's great I'm getting extra money for this, but… I don't believe it. There has to be another reason for this. This could have been handled any other way than 'this'.

Stop doubting everything, bitch! I hiss at myself.

"So that means we'll be seeing each other on a regular basis now," Vandal grins. Or threatens, depending on how I want to take it. His demeanor is back to what I've come to expect even in this short time.

"So can we be friends?"

You've got to be kidding me?! Did I really just ask that? What the fuck is wrong with me?

He surprisingly doesn't answer right away. 3 seconds pass. "I'm not a good friend to have."

Why the hell am I smiling? "Why don't you let me be the judge of that?"

He pulls his hand back as if I've burned him. He balls his fists. "You've got to be the most deluded person on the planet, or you have a real death wish," he growls.

"Maybe both," I laugh. No. I don't want to die. Somehow I think he could make me want to though.

"If you haven't noticed, I 'hate' people," Vandal informs me, his voice dropping again.

Really? I wouldn't have guessed. It's clear. "I do too, sometimes."

He lets out a short, mocking laugh. "I don't think you do."

My eyes narrow. I feel a surge of anger flare up inside me. He doesn't know me! Not yet anyway.

There's a smirk forming on his lips. "Ah. Maybe I was wrong. You just need the right reasons for it to show. Still, you're insane to think this or the fact that both of us have some 'issues' would make us friends."

It evaporates again. It never lasts long. It takes more to make me snap, if it's not screaming kids. "It could, if you want to. At least it makes us have something in common."

"I'm looking forward to seeing your reaction to Jeanette," he purrs. "That should be interesting."

I raise my eyebrow. He's totally changing the subject. "I don't think you'll get anything from that."

"You're wrong. I will." He places a hand on my head and steps so close that I can smell the cigarette smoke on his clothes. "I 'definitely' will."

"Well, then let's go in before I turn up late," I say in an attempt to get some space between the two of us again.

"Lead the way," he scoffs.

I push the doors to the Asylum open and thankfully the music is turned down a bit this early at night.

Vandal walks next to me. I see Cal handing out a drink to the girl with the purple top from earlier.

"Hey, Cal," I greet him and step up to the bar. "How are you tonight?"

He smiles when he sees me, but looks a bit perplexed that Vandal walked in with me. "I'm good, thanks. Are you excited for your first day?"

"Absolutely," I grin.

"I like your new hair color," he compliments me.

I didn't think he'd notice. I'm pleasantly surprised. "Thank you, Cal!" I glance at Vandal, my grin only widening. "He hates it. Said I fell into a pot of paint." I laugh. He looks annoyed.

"Maybe I'll drop a different kind of color on it next time you're at the blood bank," he says sinisterly.

"Ah, no worries, just like the blood this washes out," I let him know, not bothered by his remark.

"Be nice to the young Lady, Vandal," Cal scolds him.

Vandal's head snaps to him and he's about to speak, but I butt in. "No it's fine, let him, it doesn't bother me. He should have his fun too."

Cal looks to me and then he laughs. "You will fit in here well!"

Vandal growls, "She just saved your ass from a verbal beating."

"Cheer up, Vandal," Cal tells him.

"That's impossible here… I'm not sorry."

Meaning he is happier at the blood bank? He didn't look happy there yesterday. Other than when he was 'playing' with me.

I notice he's looking over my shoulder and I turn.

"What do we have here?"

It's Jeanette. And she looks 'amazing'. She looks almost like an exact replica of Therese, but with different hair and makeup. They're twin sisters apparently. The first thing I notice however is that her eyes are two different colors. One is steel gray, just like Therese's but the other is green. Her foundation is a shade lighter than the rest of her skin, her eyes are framed with reddish brown eyeshadow, but done in a way it's almost like a mask. Also she made it look like she cried intentionally. I can tell that a lot of skill went into it. It's eccentric, but it works. Her lips are done in blood red. She wears a very short, white crop top with enough cleavage to make her bra peek out of it. A plaid mini skirt, stockings and black shoes complete the look.

"You smell new, little girl," Jeanette says to me. "You smell like a good drink I wanna down in one shot."

Why do I feel like she's 'flirting' with me?! I have no preference when dating, I've been with guys and girls before. If she wasn't my superior, she'd be the type of girl I'd ask out. A big plus is that I fucking love her voice. I'm a sucker for amazing voices and hers is 'incredible'. Thinking of it. It's just as impressive as Vandal's.

Thinking of him. He looks slightly uncomfortable in Jeanette's presence. Guarded.

"If you down me, one of us won't be able to work tonight," I reply with a smirk. "It's good to meet you, Miss Voerman."

Vandal looks at me flabbergasted. This was probably not the reaction he wanted to see. Pretty sure it wasn't.

Jeanette laughs. "No need to call me that, sweetheart. Jeanette will do fine." She turns to Vandal, who immediately tenses with her eyes on him. Something I would never have expected from him. "So, Therese said you'd be bringing me something."

He pulls out the blood test. "Yes, the results of her test."

Jeanette takes the folded paper from him. She looks so happy. "Thank you." She unfolds it and scans it quickly. "Very good. That's great!" She puts it into the pocket of her skirt and turns to me once more. "I'm 'glad' Therese hired you. You have something for both of us. You have potential. I can tell. You'll be great with the clientele." She grins. "And you've already made friends with Cal and Vandal, I was watching you before I came over."

Jup, I like Jeanette. "Thanks! I appreciate the compliment."

She turns to Vandal. "Therese will let you know when Hanna comes to the blood bank again, I'm sure. She didn't leave me any message for you. Have fun at work. I know I will. See ya!"

He turns on his heels without another word. He's not even saying goodbye. I don't know why that bothers me so much. I wish he'd at least have given a nod of acknowledgement to me as he leaves.

"Vandal?" It's Jeanette.

He stops immediately and turns back.

"I think Hanna would like you to say goodbye to her," Jeanette says, her tone slightly changing. She's demanding it.

Did I look that disappointed? Did it really show on my face?

He looks from Jeanette, to me. "See you, Hanna." It sounds so forced. It's almost as if it's painful for him.

"I'm sorry." I don't even know why I'm apologizing now. Probably because he looks like he's in pain. "See you, Vandal."

For a split second, I think I see shock and awe flash in and out of his eyes. Then he turns and leaves.

Cal is already serving customers again.

"Come, let me show you around," Jeanette chirps. I hope she's always in such a good mood. It's contagious.

"I'm right behind you!"

"Enjoying the view, I hope?" Jeanette teases.

She's so easy going. This is great, holy shit. "Absolutely," I giggle.

She shows me around the dance floor and the upper floor, where club goers can rest and enjoy their drink. There's a row of cushioned benches in the back.

Jeanette gestures for us to sit down.

"So, how do you plan to entertain our guests? I put on an act. I almost never give straight answers. I intrigue people. I leave an impression. I make them feel important." She grins. "If I really like someone, I bring them up to my room…"

Well, I guess she owns the club as much as Therese, so if she wants to make out from time to time it's fine.

"Sometimes I bring girls up there too," she breathes, leans in and then takes a lung full of air.

Brain, please keep working. "I learned a few things down the line I plan to entertain our guests with. I know a vast variety of really good bar tricks, among other things."

Why isn't she leaning back again? "Oh, I have some tricks up my sleeve as well. I could show you one, right now."

I'm on high alert now. I feel like she's trying to kiss me. "That depends on the nature of your trick, Jeanette. If it doesn't involve physical contact, I guess I'm up for it." I don't want to lose my job over this. I've only been here for like half an hour. It's insane. I'm not sure why she's doing it either.

She pouts. "I thought you'd want to. Don't you like me? I know you're into both, like me."

Mistakes are made. This is one of them. "I would like to. You're great. But I can't. I don't want to lose my job over this. It's inappropriate. I need the work."

"The club's success is just as much my doing as it is Therese's. Therese might write your paychecks, but she can't kick you back out without my say so. Besides, you're valuable to both of us. I can't imagine her getting upset over something I do to you. If you're so worried and she ever finds out, I assure you, I will tell her it was my idea and that you're innocent."

I shouldn't. I really shouldn't.

"Please," she begs. "Let me have a taste of you. I bet you're incredible."

Her tone sends a shiver down my spine. Tell her no. Tell her no. This is a mistake.

I don't tell her no. "No one can find out, ever. This is fundamentally wrong. Can you promise me I won't lose my job for this?"

Jeanette gives me her best smile and reassures me, "I swear nobody will find out. This will be our secret." She giggles as she leans in further. "This will be so good. You'll love it, too."

I don't doubt that I'll like it. I close my eyes right before her lips touch mine.

The weirdest thought crosses my mind. I'll have lipstick stains on me.

Her gentleness surprises me. With the way she dresses, I'd have expected her to start a bit stronger. I don't mind though. It's nice.

I feel her tongue push against my lips and open my mouth. Her teeth tug at my bottom lip and she gently bites down. It feels insanely good. She starts sucking on it and my head enters a state of euphoria. I feel her tongue repeatedly run over my lips and in between she pushes it back into my mouth.

"Don't be shy, kiss me," Jeanette giggles just after she releases my bottom lip for a moment. She doesn't give me time to answer. Her lips are already on mine again.

So I do, I slowly push my tongue into her mouth, brush her lips with it and she kisses back. There's a slight metallic taste and I reflexively swallow. I gasp for air, before pushing my tongue back into her mouth. I suddenly feel like I'm high. Better even. I want more. Once again, Jeanette bites down on my lip. She's better than anyone I ever kissed.

Too soon, she pulls back and when I open my eyes, the first thing I notice, is that somehow, my head is clearer thanks to the mania I'm experiencing.

"You were right, I loved it," I let her know. "You're amazing."

"You were better," she purrs. "I had to force myself to stop. You taste more wonderful than anything I ever drank."

Her choice of words is strange sometimes. "Better than the most expensive red wine in the world?" I joke. I highly doubt that I am better than her.

"You are." She touches my cheek with her long, red nailed fingers.

Please, touch me forever. Stay near me. I'm surprised at myself for thinking this. I do get attached quite quickly, but this is unusual, even for me.

"Thank you for the compliment, Jeanette," I smile.

She removes her finger from my cheek. "Aw, you're welcome, honey." She giggles. "We should fix your face before we keep working."

"My face is fine." It's probably not.

She pulls a tissue out of her pocket and removes, what can only be the lipstick stains I was worried about at the start of this. "Now you're looking presentable again."

Jeanette gets up and I follow her back downstairs.

The rest of the evening goes smoothly. I entertain the guests to my heart's content, showing them a series of tricks, giving them some riddles to solve and it seems to be well received by them.

In between, Jeanette continues to check on me. After the second time though, she just comes over and tells me that I'm doing fine.

I'm doing the entire shift with her and at about 3 in the morning guests slowly start to trickle out and Cal starts cleaning the bar.

Jeanette explains that they're technically open till 4, but once the bar closes the stragglers finish their drinks and leave.

I sit down and Cal smiles at me. "You survived your first night. How do you feel?"

Wonderful. "I feel great!" I turn to Jeanette who has sat down next to me. "Please give my thanks to Therese as well. I had so much fun. I feel quite at home here already."

"Therese will be overjoyed to hear that, and I am too!"

After talking for a while longer, Jeanette excuses herself and leaves for the office, telling me she'll see me tomorrow.

I volunteer to help Cal polish the rest of the shot glasses and when we're done, the both of us get ready to leave.

I find out that Cal lives in the area as well. He however isn't walking home. He owns a car.

"Want a lift?" he asks me.

I shake my head. "Thanks, but it's really not far, and I prefer walking."

He shrugs. "Alright. Well, see you tomorrow. Good night."

I nod. "Good night. See ya."

The thud of my apartment door closing is too loud in the quiet of the room. I take off my shoes, my jeans, my shirt, my bra and loosen my hair from the ponytail. I go to the bathroom and wash my face.

I'm tired. Back out I flop into bed and close my eyes.

As I slip to sleep, I think I hear something, distant whispers that slowly turn into screams. I'm imagining things again. I ignore them and let the darkness pull me deeper into the mattress, before it finally, thankfully devours me and sends me off to dreamland.

I'll sleep like dead. I hope I don't dream.


	3. Mental Wreck

**Mental Wreck**

 _Nothing is how it should be. The room feels too small. I feel too large. I can't move but there is nothing holding me down but the complete and utter blackness I can see through the doorway in the next room. I don't want to go there, but I have to. Something is calling me there. And I know it's the poison in my mind doing this. I am diseased and rotten. I'm rotting from the inside until there is nothing left of me._

 _I stand up slowly. I've been laying on the cold wooden floor. The room is empty. There is nothing in it._

 _I look to the darkness again._

 _'Come to me,' it says._

 _'I'm what you always wanted,' it says._

 _'An end to it all,' it says._

 _It's wrong. It lies. It's trying to manipulate me. Or is it?_

 _'I want to help you. You'll be better after.'_

 _'Step into it.'_

 _I take a step towards the doorway._

 _'Yes. Come closer.'_

 _'The shadows are your friends. You can hide in them and be invisible to the world.'_

 _'You can drown your pain in it.'_

 _I shouldn't._

 _'You could disappear in it. That's what you want right? To disappear? To leave everything in the past.'_

 _Yes._

 _'Then come into my shadow,' a single deep, male voice says._

 _I don't know who's speaking. The voices and thoughts are coming from different directions. Some from the black void I'm staring into. Others from inside my head. Then again others from below the floor, from the walls, the ceiling. From the air itself._

 _There is a scream in the distance. I feel my arms bleeding but don't look down to check them. I know these cuts. They're old wounds that opened again._

 _'You look scared,' another voice speaks to me. 'Why are you scared? You should be ecstatic. This is your chance to truly leave all that came before behind.'_

 _The voice is right. I'm scared. Because I can't just let go of the last modicum of control I have. Because I don't know if leaving my old self behind is a good thing. I learned from my mistakes._

 _'Not a thing can hurt you now.'_

 _No. It's wrong. The voice doesn't know what it's saying._

 _There is laughter in the adjoining room._

 _'Come in. Come to me.' The dark voice seems to be emitted by the darkness of that room._

 _"Who are you?" I ask._

 _Complete silence follows my question. I take another step to the doorway. The air is getting colder the closer I come. It's also getting thicker. It's so thick I can almost touch it._

 _'I'm a friend,' the voice made of darkness tells me._

 _I could use a friend._

 _'I will not betray you.'_

 _I'm almost at the doorway now. I'm close enough to touch the blackness. I reach out my hand and I feel whatever's in the darkness starting to smile._

 _'Yes,' it purrs. 'Touch me.'_

 _I abruptly pull my hand back. My heart is pounding in my chest. It started sounding like a person. Before it was a demon, now it sounds almost human._

 _'Please, touch me.'_

 _The tone in which it's speaking the words sends a shiver through my entire body. It's breathing them with a desperate longing._

 _'Become a part of me. Let me touch you too.'_

 _This is not a good idea. Whatever it is, it will twist me unrecognizable._

 _'I won't. Trust me. We'll be better together than we ever were apart.'_

 _I shouldn't believe it, but I do. I reach back into the darkness and I feel my hand get swallowed by it. It feels almost like I'm sticking it into cold water._

 _A hand takes mine. It's a large human hand and it gently pulls me closer. I let it. I step into the cold blackness._

 _All of my vision is gone. I can't see anything. There's no sound but my own breathing._

 _'You're so warm.' The voice now sounds less human again. It's everywhere. I feel it as pressure, outside and inside of my head. It fills the entire space. The hand that is still holding mine moves me even closer and a second hand wraps around my waist. The human shape pulls me into an embrace. It's as cold as the room. There's no body heat. I feel like I'm being hugged by a ghost. Its voice comes even closer. 'You belong with me.'_

 _I don't belong to anyone but myself._

 _'How wrong you are.' It squeezes me. Holds me possessively. 'I'll show you things you could only dream of. And in turn you keep me alive.'_

 _Its hands move to my face and hold it. 'You have potential. Your heart holds something that you tried to suppress. You've buried the most beautiful part of it.'_

 _I can smell mint on its breath. I can feel it leaning in._

 _'You don't have to suffer alone anymore.'_

 _I'm stunned into silence._

 _'We can share the pain of it.'_

 _Its face is so close I can almost feel its lips on mine._

 _'Do you want to?'_

 _I do. Desperately._

 _'Good.'_

 _Its hands move again, this time to my back and it presses me up against it and closes the distance between our lips. They're so soft. Its body temperature rises above room temperature and keeps climbing until it's unnaturally hot._

 _'I will know all of you. I will know your deepest darkest desires and the secrets buried in your heart.'_

 _It's not moving its lips. It doesn't pull back to speak. The words are somehow placed inside my mind with the intensity of the kiss._

 _I don't want it to know._

 _'You will be unable to stop it.'_

 _I feel its tongue enter my mouth. Like the rest of it, it's hot._

 _'Let go. Relinquish your control to me.'_

 _I have already lost, haven't I? I feel it gain purchase in my head. My will to resist is crumbling. Why does this feel so good?_

 _'Let me take over. Let me be the songs in your head that you dance to.'_

 _I give up. I let go and let whatever's in my head become a part of me. I can feel it coil around my heart, hollow it out and then fill it back up with want and a feeling of power. Somehow they're not my own. I know they're not, and still it feels amazing. I don't want it to stop. I hate myself, but it's overshadowed by everything else. By how great I actually feel._

 _The figure still holding me slides its hand under my shirt and drags its nails along my back slowly, gently, while deepening the kiss until I can barely breathe anymore. I relax into it._

 _'I knew you wanted this. You kept pushing it down.'_

 _Yes._

 _'You 'lied' to yourself. But you can't lie to me.'_

 _I wrap my arms around the figure. It chuckles and the vibrations of it run like an electric current through my skin. I want more. I want all of it. I kiss back._

 _The nails begin to scratch with a bit of pressure. I press the figure tighter to my body to feel more of the heat it radiates. I accept that it is in my head, that it knows me, that it controls me if I let it and with that acceptance I feel a newfound strength. I feel my bleeding arms heal._

 _The figure breaks off the kiss. Slowly I feel it leaning back. Bit by bit I can start to make out a shape against the darkness. The first thing I can clearly see are cold, bright blue eyes._

 _No! No! I want to scream._

 _"I think we both got what we wanted," Vandal laughs. It's not mocking. He looks satisfied._

 _He's right. I finally accepted that I'm fundamentally broken. That there are demons in my head, as he himself had put it before._

 _So what had he gotten?_

 _"Someone who didn't run," he answers. "Someone who 'let me' touch them. Someone who didn't resist." He pauses and he looks like he's choosing his next words very carefully before speaking them. "Someone who 'wanted' to be touched. Someone so desperately starved that they would not care if it was a guy like me."_

 _I notice that his hands are still on my back. I'm also aware that I haven't let go of him either._

 _A guy like him? I know what he's thinking. I know because I've thought the same of myself so many times before._

 _He shakes his head. "Not quite."_

 _I'm not so sure about that._

 _"You 'think' that you destroy everything you come in contact with eventually." One of his hands slides up to the back of my neck. "I think it because I 'do'. They all refuse, or run, or fight. They all end up dead. When all I wanted was to feel their skin to feel alive."_

 _He's wrong about me. I might not have killed, but I've destroyed lives._

 _"Have you?"_

 _"A lot of them. Knowing full well what I was doing," I answer honestly._

 _"Did you enjoy it?"_

 _I enjoyed what I gained from it, yes. Did he regret killing them?_

 _"No." I see something in his eyes spark. "I made them beg, and cry and scream and I enjoyed every second of it. They deserved it after leaving me for dead, even if it was just dead inside."_

 _Does this mean I'm the first thing he will not destroy?_

 _"Probably." He looks at me. "And you don't have to worry about destroying my life. Because it's already been destroyed for a very long time. You're just seeing the wreckage that was left behind that can't be broken any more than it already is."_

 _I should not feel happy about this. This feels like I'm taking advantage. It feels like I'm using him in a way._

 _"You're being used by me as well." He smirks and trails a single finger down my spine._

 _"Fine then, I think I can live with both of us using the other to get what they want."_

 _He steps back and the cold from the room returns. 'Come to donate. Therese will want her share.'_

 _He disappears in the darkness again and my vision is back. I'm at the pier with Heather. We're walking down the street to the small cafe._

 _I hear a beeping noise. It's getting louder. Where is it coming from?_

 _It sounds like an alarm clock._

 _It's my alarm clock._

x

I groan. Of course I would dream, hoping that I wouldn't before falling asleep. I hate weird, creepy dreams. I remember them most of the time. Ugh. Nonsensical rubbish. Best not think about it too much.

I drape my arm across my face to block out the sunlight shining in through the window. I should probably get up. I need to check what's in the fridge and I will probably have to go food shopping.

I sit up and remain on the bed for a moment longer. If I didn't have to get out of bed, I wouldn't.

I sigh and drag myself to the bathroom, take a shower, brush my teeth and decide that it's too early to eat.

I check the fridge.

What a surprise, it's almost empty again. Guess I'll be on my way to the nearest grocery store now.

I get dressed, grab my things and leave without doing anything else.

x

I enter the store and head straight to the cereal section. I haven't had cereal in forever and I'm kind of craving it right now. I also take fresh fruit and milk, get some frozen dinners and pizza and am ready to head back out.

I'm glad the store's almost empty.

I remember a time when I would just eat the food in the store, hide the wrapper and walk out as if nothing happened.

The cashier is a grumpy looking woman in her 50's. She looks at me concerned as I get the money out of my wallet. "Darling, are you alright? You look a little sick."

I'm not sick. "I'm fine, thanks for asking though." I hand her the money and take back the change.

I am almost a hundred percent sure I know what she's thinking about me right now. 'Poor thing, I hope she eats enough.'

Good thing I don't really care what she thinks.

I walk back out and pass a group of three guys my age.

"Hey, girl!" one of them says and steps towards me.

I turn to him with a smirk on my face. "Hey, boy."

The two others laugh, standing behind the guy who addressed me. They're not laughing at me. They're laughing at the guy.

"You need help with those bags? They look heavy. I could help you bring them to your car," he smiles.

"Well, I don't have a car, but if you wanna walk all the way to my apartment with me, feel free to. It's a 20 minute walk." That'll put him off. It should.

He looks disappointed. "Oh, I don't actually have that much time. I work here as a cashier and my break is almost over. Otherwise I would have."

He seems quite serious. The two guys, who I assume are his friends, or maybe co-workers, are still laughing, if quietly.

I ask them, "What's so funny?" I remain friendly.

"We told him it was a bad idea," the blond guy says. "We also didn't think he'd actually go through with it."

I turn back to the guy who had offered to carry my bags. "Was this a dare?"

He shakes his head. "No. I am new in town… I'm awkward. I didn't know how else to start a conversation. Sorry."

"Well, what's your name?"

"Mike. You?"

"Hanna." I think for a moment and tell him. "Why don't you come to the the Asylum, that's the club in town, tonight. I work there as a hostess. Bring the two of them and some friends if you like."

"I'll think about it, thanks," Mike says, then checks his watch. "I should probably go back inside. "Thank you again."

I nod. "Sure, no problem."

Without another word I turn and leave. As I walk away I can hear one of them blurting out to Mike, "Dude you're so lucky that she was so nice to you!"

I wonder if they'll really turn up tonight.

x

Back at my apartment, I store my food away and busy myself with filling a bowl with cereal and milk and then begin to stuff my face.

Remembering my dream, I realize I have no idea when I'm supposed to be donating. I'll have to check when the blood bank is open. I'm sure they have set times where they take donations. So I open the Santa Monica Medical Clinic's website to find out that the blood bank is still open today. I make up my mind to go visit. Because I really could use the extra money.

I clean my dishes and am off again for the second time today.

x

The first thing I notice is that the back door to the blood bank is locked, so I go around and enter through the front entrance.

A woman with blond hair in a blue shirt is at the reception. "How can I help you?"

I play dumb. "I wanted to donate blood. Could you tell me where I need to go?"

She nods. "Yes, go down the hall through the glass door and take the stairs down."

"Thank you."

As I make my way to the stairs I take a closer look at my environment. The clinic is seriously run down. It's a wonder they're still operating.

Just like last time I step up to the window, but this time a young Asian looking guy greets me. "Good day. How can I help you?"

"My name's Hanna Moore, I'd like to donate."

"I'll check in the system. Have you been here before?"

"Just to have my blood tested," I reply.

I wait as he looks for the files on the computer. His eyebrows draw together. "We do have your data, but I will have to make a quick call to the manager."

Why's that? "Is there something wrong?" I ask.

"No. There's just a note in the files that I don't quite understand."

What the hell could that possibly be? "Okay. Can't you just take my blood?"

"I think I could, but I'd rather ask about this. Wait a minute, please."

So I wait.

He picks up the phone and dials and not 15 seconds later Vandal picks up on the other end.

"Hey, Vandal. I'm sorry to bother you, but there's a Hanna Moore here to donate and I don't quite get the note that's attached to her file."

I can't hear Vandal's reply, but the guy's face contorts in discomfort. I'm pretty sure Vandal's shouting at him, or close to.

"Well, you're the only person in this hospital who has a key to that room."

Another pause, then, "Okay."

He turns to me, "He asks if you can come back in later."

"How late is later. I start working in a few hours."

He repeats what I said to Vandal.

"Okay. Thanks. I'll let her know." He hangs up the phone. "He said you should wait for 30 minutes. Fair warning, he will not be in a good mood when he gets here. I'm sorry for the complications. You can wait in the break room. He said it's fine."

He's coming here?! "Okay, thank you." Thank god my voice isn't shaking.

He leads me to said break room and I take a seat. With 30 minutes to kill I put in my earphones and listen to music.

I can't think of the dream I had. I will feel even more awkward in his presence now. Thanks brain, for coming up with that rubbish. Even worse, as weird and creepy as the dream was, it wasn't entirely wrong. Kissing Jeanette yesterday probably triggered it.

Well done, now it's in my head. Shouldn't have started thinking about it in the first place. This is bad.

A thought pulses upward in my mind. I kinda want to try the real thing. Then again, I don't.

I should probably just get a hammer and smash my brain in to make this stop. Yes.

I try to push the thoughts down but they keep returning. Time seems to pass at half the usual rate. I can't drown them out by raising the volume of my music. I wish I could.

I feel an irresistible urge grow inside of me. I desperately look around the break room. I see a plate and coffee mug in the sink.

Drawers. There are drawers.

Automatically I stand up. I don't think about it. I open the first. Forks, spoons and table knives.

Not sharp enough.

I open the next. A paring knife greets me.

I take it and sit back down.

There's no one here, no one can see me do this.

I extend my left arm and place the blade on the outside of my forearm and draw it down towards my wrist. It's sharp enough that I don't immediately feel the cut, but it starts to sting moments later, it starts bleeding. I place the knife next to where I have just cut and drag it down again, watching blood run out of the second cut as well. It hurts, and I finally stop thinking. There's only the pain left in my head. The sight of my own blood. I cut a third and fourth time.

I place the knife again and start dragging it along my arm slower this time. It hurts more like this. I can actually feel my skin break, not just the sudden sharp sting.

"If you want my advice, you really shouldn't be doing that here."

I wince, abruptly get up from my chair, spin around and hide my arms behind my back.

Vandal has a grin on his face that holds the slightest hint of mockery. He steps closer. "Give me the knife." He holds out his hand.

I give it to him and he places it on the table.

"Now show me your arm," he orders, and again I do without even hesitating.

He shakes his head. "At least you didn't cut all that deep. The others already stopped bleeding." He turns and drags me by my arm out of the break room. I'm too perplexed to protest. "You have no 'idea' how lucky you are," he growls. "None. If Therese hadn't ordered me to do this…" He leaves the end of the sentence open. An unspoken threat.

"So what was that about the room only you had a key to?" I ask.

"I had to get equipment out of it."

It makes no sense. Why would he be the only one with a key to the supply room?

We're back in the room he took my sample in. He closes the door.

When he turns back to me his expression has completely changed. If he had looked mildly irritated when he came into the break room, he now looked ready to kill me. "Don't ever come here again when I'm not on shift."

I'm slightly annoyed. "Well, nobody told me it would be a problem if I just came in to donate like a normal person! If you'd specified, I wouldn't have come."

He's digging his nails into his arm and hisses at me, "Well apparently saying that 'we'll be seeing each other on a regular basis' didn't imply to you that you were supposed to have your donations taken by me."

Yeah, now that he's saying it… Still.

"Well, I'm sorry that it caused you inconvenience. It won't happen again," I apologize.

Slowly he lets go of his arm. There are no markings where his nails had dug into his skin.

I sit down on the cot and Vandal wordlessly cleans my arm, then gets ready to take my blood. "Why'd you do it?"

I will 'not' talk about this. "So I would stop thinking."

He smirks. "Did it work?"

The question slightly surprises me. "Yes."

"They will leave worse scars than the ones you already have," he informs me.

I shrug. "Don't really care."

Vandal ties a tourniquet on me, like last time. "If it helped me, I would do it all the time. It doesn't though. Nothing ever helps."

"You hear voices, right? You said you have demons in your head that talk to you."

"Yes." He grins and I think he's hoping his answer will make me uncomfortable. It doesn't though and as I don't show a reaction, he looks 'almost' surprised. "Most people hear that and keep their distance."

"I'm not most people. My own voice tells me a lot of shit, so I can relate, kind of."

He scoffs. "You really can't."

I watch as he connects a long tube to a blood bag and feels my arm for a vein. The sting of the needle is brief as he drives it in.

I don't speak again and neither does he for over a minute. We just watch the blood run out of me.

"Did Jeanette make you drink?" he asks me quietly.

What kind of question is that? Does he think she'd made me drink at work? That that's why I cut myself? Because I feel guilty or something? "No, she didn't make me drink. No mandatory initiation shots from Cal were drunk."

"Did she make you do anything else?" he presses.

What the hell is he getting at? Is he trying to get info for Therese? Or is he actually concerned Jeanette did something to me that could have made me want to cut myself just thinking about it? "She showed me around the club and asked a few questions."

He's intently looking into my face, almost as if reading it. I'm slightly uncomfortable.

"Alright." Somehow I know this isn't what he wanted to hear. "Do you feel any different at all?"

I don't fucking get what he wants from me. "No? I don't understand. Why would I feel different?"

He looks confused, then shakes his head. "Forget it."

"Okay…" This is confusing and weird. I really don't know what he wants to hear. That I feel happier than before because of my new job?

He checks the blood bag connected to my arm. Not quite full yet.

"Do you want to get coffee with me?" I ask him. "I'll pay."

"What?"

"You're asking so many questions, they're better discussed over a cup of coffee," I grin.

What he says next is something I don't quite expect. "You're serious aren't you?"

Of course I am. "Yeah. Is that so hard to believe that I'd want to talk with you?"

Darkness flicks in and out of his yes. "You're making a mistake trying to befriend me. It's unhealthy."

"Because you think you're broken?" Why am I asking this. I shouldn't be asking. It's none of my business.

He replies though. "You could say that."

"Well two broken halves make a whole, you know."

He didn't like that comment at all. "I'll get coffee with you, and you 'will' answer all my questions," he growls.

Got what I wanted. "Fine."

Vandal finishes taking my blood and the two of us head out to the nearest cafe.

As we walk down the main street he lights a cigarette. I'm fully aware he didn't ask if he could and anyone else would probably find that offensive. I luckily could care less. The environment I grew up in has taught me that it's easier not to give a shit and not be bothered by a lot of things lest you go insane.

Vandal also seems to notice because he says, "You know, I think you're either extremely apathetic or extremely calm about things that would piss other people off."

"Probably a bit of both." I really don't care about it. He'll just have to put up with me pulling faces when I smell the smoke. Though I try not to.

He sighs. "Well at least that makes you one of the rare cases of people I don't actually mind being around because it means you bitch less about insignificant things than the general population."

That sounds like a compliment. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." His eyebrow raises slightly.

"You're looking like you want to say something else. Go on. I'm sure I can take it."

"I want you to tell me why you want to hang out with me."

"To get to know you better. I wasn't joking when I asked if we could be friends. You might be rude and scary sometimes, but I think we could get along in a weird twisted way." Truth, all of it.

He laughs a genuine amused laugh. "You are weird and twisted. Be careful that you don't get burned. You're playing with fire."

I shrug. "Yes. Let's add burn marks to the scars I already bear. No big deal."

His voice drops. "I could put my cigarette out on your arm right now."

How much would that hurt? Would that be worse than the cuts? I want to know. "Do it." I hold my arm out to him with a smile. "I want to know what it's like."

He stops walking and I turn to him.

"You think you're being funny? I wasn't joking." He grabs my wrist to hold my arm in place. When I don't resist and change my mind his eyes widen slightly. He doesn't ask me if I'm sure. He doesn't refuse to do it either. He puts it out on my arm as if it is the most normal thing to do, as if my request hadn't been crazy in the first place. I hiss in pain. It's bad. It hurts a lot. It's far worse than cutting. I can feel my eyes get wet.

Vandal releases my wrist and I shake off the ash.

"You aren't even upset I didn't refuse," he says astonished.

"Well I asked you to do it didn't I?" I don't regret it either, even though I'm now in pain. My curiosity is satisfied.

"So how bad did it hurt?" he wants to know. "Judging from your face it was pretty bad."

"Yeah. Stings a lot. I can feel my pulse in the burned area. It sends pain through it."

Vandal smiles at me. "If you ever want to try anything out of curiosity again, let me know."

I nod. "Sure."

"Well, you just became my favorite person."

He knows I'm serious. I know he knows. "Aw!" It might sound like I'm joking about thinking that's cute, but for some fucked up reason, I'm not.

We keep walking and eventually we arrive at the cafe. After we order we sit down at a table in the very back of the cafe in a corner.

I rest my arms on the table and inspect the burn again. It already stopped hurting. It's still red though.

"You seem like someone who bottles up their feelings until they burst," Vandal says to me.

"You're correct." I take a sip from my coffee. And he seems like someone who does too, but only with pain. Anger just flows out of him, manifesting as threats and violence.

"So, Therese told me that you're new in town. What did you do before you came here?" Vandal asks.

I had hoped to avoid speaking about this. I sigh. "I served a few years prison sentence."

He looks surprised. "A few years?" His face changes, he starts smirking. "You're full of surprises. Judging by your looks and how you act I'd have never suspected. What did you do? Steal?"

"That too, but that wasn't what the sentence was for."

"I've been to jail for breaking and entering." he shrugs. "Bet you're glad to be out again, right?"

"Yeah."

He leans forward. "You haven't answered my question yet. What did you do?"

"I dealt Schedule 1 drugs." I know who ratted me out too. One of my suppliers. If I ever find the guy…

"I almost don't believe it." He looks impressed. And I love and hate it at the same time. "I assume you're a lot different now than before?"

I think about it. "Not really. I switch between moods a lot. Rather quickly too sometimes. Some days I feel utterly weak, others I feel invincible. Then again others I'm pissed at everything. And on some I switch between all of them in a day."

"Where did they incarcerate you?"

"Near Downtown LA."

"So did you take the drugs as well, or did you just deal them?" he questions.

"I never took any myself. I was only in it for the money." I don't think I've ever been this honest with anyone. None of my friends know. I think I'm only comfortable with telling him because he's been to prison too. I also can't believe I'm talking about this at daytime, in a cafe without worrying of being overheard. "What's the story with your breaking and entering?"

"Interested, are you?" he grins.

"Yes. Never had anyone to share crime stories with."

He laughs. "Well, it's been a while, but there was this guy who stole from the hospital one time. Took a bunch of sensitive documents, and I took it upon myself to retrieve them and give the guy a good scare."

"Did he work at the hospital?"

He nods. "He did. And he too got sentenced for what he did. Police found both of us. The neighbors had called the cops. They escorted both of us to the station."

"You could have just reported him…"

"That would have taken all the fun out of it." He's serious. "It was worth seeing his face when I woke him up on the sofa that night." He looks at my arm for but a moment. "What were you thinking about exactly that made you do that?"

I remember my dream and suddenly it hits me. This conversation is coincidentally addressing topics in it. This is just weird. The universe and it's coincidences is weird. I'm weird. Fuck.

I look away. I'm embarrassed. "Something that I dreamed last night…"

I can feel him being confused even without seeing his face. "Was the dream so horrible?"

"Part of it was." I feel my face get hot.

"Tell me all about it," he demands. I can tell he's having fun.

"Oh, god this will be so awkward in a moment," I groan.

"Wait, did you dream of me?" he sounds guarded all of a sudden.

I look up at him again. "I did." I find his reaction strange. "Why?"

"Because I did dream of you too."

What. The. Fuck. "No way."

"Jeanette tricked you into sabotaging the blood bank. Therese found out and ordered me to drain you next time you came to donate… And I couldn't do it."

Something in his tone tells me that in other dreams he would have been able to. I feel strange.

"That's just as stranger as mine, I have to admit." I take a deep breath. "I dreamed you kissed me. You begged me to touch you. You told me you killed people because they ran from you and fought, when all you wanted was to touch them to feel alive."

I didn't expect to see what I see. The fear, suspicion and paranoia in his eyes morph into anger and then curiosity. "Are you embarrassed about the dream itself or are you embarrassed because you kept thinking of it?" He grins, "Or are you embarrassed because you are curious about the real thing?"

I feel like he just slapped me in the face with that. All three of his statements apply. Shit.

He breathes, "If you want to try, all you have to do is ask."

Holy shit. His voice. How can anyone have this much control over the tone of their voice? He sounds incredible. I want to listen to it forever.

You are on a road to self destruction. You will regret this. I won't regret this. I hope I won't regret this. "Can I try, please?"

Amusement flashes through his eyes. "Not here, not right now. I'll pick you up at the Asylum after your shift ends tonight. You can come to my place and we can talk more."

I'm cautious. I tell him, "We're not doing 'anything' else."

He nods. "Of course. I can always get an escort if I need more."

Somehow that puts me at ease.

"Contrary to popular belief of some of my co-workers at the hospital, I don't go around sexually harassing people," he huffs. I can tell he's offended by the very thought. He looks 'uncomfortable'. Extremely so.

"I'm sorry if my comment offended you."

He shrugs. "It's fine. You're just making sure, and I respect that."

"Thanks."

I wonder if he's been harassed before, judging from the look that was on his face I would say yes, because to me it seemed like the look of someone who remembered what had happened to them.

"Hanna? If you hadn't been caught, would you still be dealing?"

To be perfectly honest. "Yes."

"And if you never had to worry about getting caught, because for instance someone high up could bribe the police to look the other way, would you start again?" he inquires.

"I'm not sure. Probably. I'd have to think about that for a long while before deciding if the risk was worth it."

After that, he doesn't speak for a while. He looks lost in thought. "I think I know why I dreamed I couldn't kill you…" he murmurs so quiet that I almost don't catch it.

"Why's that?" I ask.

"What?"

"You just said, I think I know why I dreamed I couldn't kill you." I say. "Why's that?"

"I didn't say anything." His eyebrows draw together.

I shrug. "I'm pretty sure I heard that." I let it go. "Oh well, maybe it was just in my head."

"Is Jeanette at the club tonight?" he wants to know.

He's changing the subject. "Yes, I work the shift with her."

"Good, because I need to talk with her."

"Okay." I don't know why he needs to.

A shock runs through me. No, is he-? "Wait, Vandal. Are you gonna tell her about my background?! Please, don't! I'm begging you! She'll kick me out if she finds out! I need the job!"

He looks at me, confusion on his face. "No, don't worry that's not why I need to speak with her. Your secrets are safe with me."

Paranoia is taking me over. He sees it, because he reassures me a second time that he will not tell a soul what we spoke about.

"Alright," I try to rid myself of the panic I'm still feeling.

Vandal waits patiently and when he is sure I'm calm again he says, "I'm looking forward to seeing you later."

"Me too, actually."

"Put some of that ointment I gave you on that burn when you get home." Vandal instructs me as we get up to leave.

"I will. Thanks." We walk out and he turns to me again.

"See you later, Hanna."

"See you, Vandal." I smile, wave goodbye and make my way back to my apartment.

As I flop on the couch, I hope that my shift will go ok.

Looking at my arm again, I will have to wear a long sleeve shirt for work now.

x

My shift is not going okay. It's already starting horrendously. Jeanette isn't here. Why isn't she here? Where is she? Where the hell is she?

I am definitely panicking. I don't know why. It's not like I can't do the shift on my own. That's not exactly why I'm worried. So why am I worried? Why do I feel like she abandoned me? Left me to be eaten by a pack of wolves.

If I survive this, I will be all the stronger for it.

It takes half an hour before Jeanette shows her face at the club.

"I'm sorry I'm late. I had a teensy tiny problem that needed to be taken care of. But don't you worry honey, I'm not leaving you drowning in the sea."

Relief washes over me. "I was worried when you weren't here."

"You would have done fine even without me. I trust you with the clientele."

I feel honored hearing it from her. "Thank you, Jeanette."

An hour, then two, then three pass and the club, compared to yesterday, is strangely empty. Jeanette notices it too because she says, "Are there other parties going on that I don't know about?"

Unfortunately I don't know. I wish I did just to be able to tell her about it. "No clue. Sorry."

She smiles a brilliant smile. "How are you tonight?"

"Good, thanks for asking. And you?"

She raised an eyebrow. "I'm good too."

Did I say something wrong? I feel like I just said something wrong. What's that look she's giving me. Almost as if she doesn't understand something.

She starts grinning. "Since the club is practically empty, why don't you come upstairs with me into my office?"

"Okay." I'm officially scared now. Why does she want to talk with me in private?

She goes over to Cal and informs him that we'll be back in a bit. I follow her to the elevator with my thoughts racing.

As soon the door of her office closes behind us, her grin turns into a look of seriousness.

My heart sinks to my feet.

"Honey," Jeanette starts. "You need a makeover."

What? Excuse me, I need what?! "I- I-" I stammer. I don't understand what's going on. I thought something was seriously wrong.

"I watched you work, and what you do is 'great', but we need to match your outfit to it."

I let out a short laugh, expelling the panic from moments ago with it. "Okay, that's fine. Damn, I thought there was something 'seriously' wrong. I thought you would kick me out or something."

"No, sweetie. I need you here," she pouts. "But the makeover is a serious matter we need to take care of."

"Sure. How do you want to go about it? What do you have in mind exactly?"

Her eyes spark. She looks excited. "I thought we turn you into a magician, because you do have exceptional skill in your area."

I like it. It's a play on words. "That sounds 'wonderful'."

"And don't worry, we'll not go over the top, like with my outfit and makeup. You'll look even more amazing when I'm done with you," she grins.

Yes. I really like the idea. "Nice."

Jeanette and I spend a few more minutes discussing what kind of outfit would work and when she has a general idea of what I'd like she lets me know that she'll pick something out for me. So I give her my clothing sizes and we head back downstairs.

Cal beckons us over to the bar. "This is the slowest night I've had in my ten years of working here. What the hell."

I look around the club. It's 'empty'. "Where are the people who were here before Jeanette and I went upstairs?"

"They finished their drinks and left," Cal informs us. "Said there's an event at the Ocean House Hotel they wanted to go to."

"I didn't hear about any events in the area," I say, confused.

"That's one of Therese's ventures," Jeanette sighs. "She could have let me know."

"So does that means we'll just kill time tonight?" Because I don't think Mike and his friends will actually show up.

Jeanette sits down on one of the bar stools. "I'll be so bored now."

She really loves her work, doesn't she?

"Anyone want a drink on house?" Cal laughs, gets a bottle of Baileys of all things from the bar and looks at me.

Jeanette glances at me and says, "Feel free to have a drink if you want. I can't. I'm allergic. I'll end up throwing up and making a mess here. And don't worry I'll not tell Therese. Not that she would care about it."

"Neither will I," Cal smiles.

I nod. "Then I'll have a drink."

He pours himself and me a shot glass.

"Cheers. To an uneventful night," he grins.

I smile. "To us not dying of boredom."

"To Therese's event running better than the club right now," Jeanette whines.

"Don't worry, I'm sure she'll not hold events there every night." I try to cheer her up.

"I hope so." She looks tired all of a sudden. "I'm just sick of not being informed. I could have done something else tonight, and I could have let you know to take a night off from work.

I shrug. "Can't be helped now."

Time seems to pass extremely slowly. Mike doesn't show his face and before long it's almost closing time.

"Well, that's a sight I never thought I'd see," Vandal says behind us.

Jeanette and I turn to him.

"Did you know Jeanette was holding an event at her hotel?" Jeanette asks him immediately.

"No. Therese usually doesn't tell me," he answers.

"Well that makes two of us." She regards him curiously. "Why are you here?"

"I needed to speak with you. Alone."

"Ah, I think I know why." She motions for him to follow. "We'll be right back."

Vandal looks tense. The elevator doors close and I'm alone with Cal.

"It's quite unusual seeing Vandal here for any other reason than having been ordered in by Therese for their monthly meetings." Cal notes.

"Do you know him well?" I ask. I'm curious.

"No. He doesn't talk a lot. He seems a bit strange sometimes, but that's about all I can say."

"I can attest to him being a bit strange, but he's quite alright to be honest. Had coffee with him earlier. He's interesting."

Cal looks surprised, "If you say so."

I give him a nod and wait for Vandal in silence.

It takes roughly 5 minutes until the're back.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Vandal. I can't wait." Jeanette looks utterly happy. It brings a smile to my face.

"Thanks again, Jeanette." He walks over to me. "Well, let's go then. I'm done here."

I say goodbye to Cal and Jeanette and follow Vandal outside the club.

"I parked my car in the parking garage down the street," he tells me. "And I am very happy to report, that I secured you 'permanent' employment from Jeanette and in turn Therese."

What did he do? What did he tell her? "You said you wouldn't speak to her about my background." I'm paranoid. My statement makes no sense. If he had they wouldn't keep me.

"I didn't," he grins. "I don't break promises."

"Then what did you tell her?"

"Since you were dealing before, all I had to do was mention to Jeanette that you are quite adept at finding people who want exactly what you offer and take advantage of that." His grin widens, turns astute. "She liked hearing that. Said she'd probably have a special job for you soon."

I don't know what I think of that. "Okay. Thank you."

"You're more than welcome." He smiles and places a hand on my shoulder. "I'm pleased that Jeanette took a liking to you immediately."

The undertone in his voice isn't matching his words. I can't put my finger on it, but I think he's not just pleased, he's positively ecstatic about the fact. And for some reason that unnerves me.

His car turns out to be a small, black Chevrolet.

He pulls out the key, unlocks it and I hop in.

As I pull the door shut and I look up. I see blood smeared all over the windshield.

'Death is near.'

It changes.

'It's taking the driver's seat and the wheel.'

Vandal sits down and inserts the key and turns on the engine.

The entire drive, I pray that we don't crash.

He parks the car in front of an apartment complex. I follow him up to the top floor and he lets me enter. "Welcome, to my humble home," he grins as I step inside.


	4. Asking Questions

**Asking Questions**

Vandal checks the clock in his booth at the blood bank. 30 minutes until he leaves to pick up Hanna. It's so hot at the clinic this time of the year. He hates it. The air conditioner, even though it's working, isn't doing shit to ward off the heat.

Footsteps on the stairs indicate another customer about to arrive.

A tall man in an expensive looking suit steps in front of the donation window. Clearly Ventrue by the way he carries himself. As if the whole world belongs to him.

Just one look at the guy makes Vandal's stomach twist in rage. His voice is as cold as ever when he addresses the kindred. "Need a fix?"

"Two blue blood packs," the man in the suit replies and hands him the money. "Make it quick, I don't have all night."

"Coming right up." Vandal wishes he could spit in the guy's face and refuse, but he knows better than to do that. He goes to one of the boxes in the booth and gets the produce then hands it off to his paying customer.

The man in the suit immediately leaves again. The only good thing about his job, they never stay to chat. Ever.

Vandal's thoughts return to his upcoming talk with Jeanette. He has to find out if she's already had her drink unbeknownst to Hanna herself. And he needs to make sure that Jeanette will keep her. He already has a plan for that though. Not that it's a very sound plan, but it should work. He hopes it will.

Even after his talk with Hanna at the cafe he isn't a hundred percent sure about her motives to befriend him. He doesn't trust her. He's pretending to though. He's quite good at pretending. If she crosses him, she will regret it. No one messes with him.

He's glad Phil isn't here right now. It gives him quiet. Tomorrow he will have to deal with him again. He isn't looking forward to it. Phil gets on his nerves. He really doesn't like him. It will never come as close to how much he hates one particular ghoul in town however. Knox Harrington. Blood bound to a Nosferatu pest. He wonders if his hate for him stems from the traits passed over in Therese's blood, or if it's really just Knox himself who is so utterly annoying. Maybe it's a bit of both. Therese despises all Nosferatu. She thinks of them as unclean.

Vandal lets out a sigh, checks the clock again and decides that it's no use waiting any longer. If he arrives at the club early, so be it.

He stores the blood bags away, gets his things and locks the blood bank for the night.

It's only a short walk to the Asylum. The streets are extremely empty tonight, which is unusual.

A young woman passes him further down the street and he catches a whiff of her perfume. Underneath it, he can smell her skin. She smells pure, clean. Her blood is 'perfect', like Hanna's it's exactly Therese's taste. The urge to touch her rises up in him. The urge to drive a needle through her skin and watch the liquid that gives her life, leave her.

He can't, not now. He needs to get to the Asylum to talk with Jeanette.

But she smells so good. Therese will be happy if he brings her a few bags of her.

He tucks this hands into his pockets to keep himself from doing something incredibly reckless. He has no time for it now.

When he can no longer smell her, he relaxes again. The voices in his head grow more quiet.

He arrives at the Asylum and to his surprise, there's nobody out front smoking. It's strange. He feels like he's walking through a ghost town. Usually the club's always packed.

He grabs the door handle, pushes it down and enters to a sight he never thought he'd see.

x

As the elevator doors close, Jeanette regards him with a curious look. "You've taken a liking to little Hanna, haven't you?" she asks him.

Of course she knows. That's why he doesn't like Jeanette. The Malkavian insight is stronger in her than it is in Therese.

There's no use in denying it. Lying to her always makes everything worse. "I guess so. She's interesting, to say the least," he answers drily. "Did you have her drink?"

"She doesn't know she swallowed a bit of my blood, and I would like to keep it that way for now. It's more fun like that." Jeanette grins, clearly satisfied with herself. "You want to play with her too? Feel free to. But don't break her."

The elevator doors open and he follows her into the office. The sisters are never here at the same time. At least never when he's present.

"I won't break her. In fact, I have a proposition for you. You should keep her. I talked with her earlier today and I think she could be quite an asset. She has a way of finding people who want exactly what she, or you, can offer." He doesn't reveal anything about Hanna's past in order to keep his promise and respect her wish.

Jeanette however, reveals what he already knows to him. "Therese had her police reports. We both know she dealt drugs. And now that you mention her particular skill set. I think you're right. She's an asset and I just had an idea." She leans closer. "Take two vials of my blood tomorrow. Make her drink it on two consecutive days. I want her coming back here, screaming for me."

Vandal laughs cruelly. "With pleasure. I'll make sure she drinks even if it means I'll have to pour it down her throat. You got a special job for her in mind already?"

"I might." Jeanette looks incredibly happy with the turn of events. "We'll have so much fun together. For that, I thank you." The smile on her face only grows. "If you want to get little Hanna to do what you want, make sure to be nice to her and reassure her. Try not to threaten her too often. She'll become so attached to you that she will do a lot of things for you she otherwise would never do under any other circumstances."

"Your advice is appreciated, if not entirely needed."

"Did she change at all after her first shift?" Jeanette wants to know from him.

He shakes his head. "No. I asked her if she feels any different after noting no change in her. She said she feels normal. She didn't even get what I was talking about. In fact, she looked confused. Maybe it's because she already appears to be mentally ill."

"So she's not hearing voices, like you? I remember what Therese told me after you had your first drink. You immediately started hearing them and having dreams."

"Well she did dream. I'll keep the two of you updated on her." This will indeed be interesting. He's looking forward to it.

"Alright, if that's all, we can go back downstairs."

Vandal nods.

"Uh, I almost forgot." Jeanette walks over to her desk and opens a drawer. "Give that to Hanna from me." She hands him a sealed envelope.

"Why don't you give it to her yourself?" He isn't her errand boy. It's bad enough he has to do that for Therese from time to time.

"You'll thank me later. Make her read it when she's at your place. Her reaction will most likely be worth it," she grins.

Vandal puts the envelope in his pocket not saying another word. Fucking insight. It's creepy when she knows things she shouldn't.

They head downstairs and Hanna turns to them.


End file.
